Call Me By My Name
by eggsaladstain
Summary: "The ghosts of all the women you used to be are all so proud of who you have become, storm child made of wild and flame." –Nikita Gill. This is the story of Jasmine, Jazzy, and all the other ghosts who make up the woman known as Jaz.
1. One

**I.**

The baby's mother is overjoyed to learn that she's having a girl, because she has always, always wanted a daughter. She envisions adorable dresses and ballet lessons and giggly slumber parties - all experiences she missed out on in her own childhood.

While she herself is not a traditional wife and finds it hard to imagine she'll be a traditional mother, what she wants more than anything is a safe, ordinary life for her daughter.

The baby's father is...less enthused when he learns he will soon be outnumbered in his own house. His many brothers all have many sons, and so, he believed that he too would add a boy to his family tree - a son who would carry his name and legacy, a son he could shape into a man.

He does not know what to do with a girl. He does not know how to raise a daughter.

...

In the delivery room, a name falls from the mother's lips as she cradles the child in her arms. It's soft and pretty - her favorite flower - and the perfect name for a baby girl.

It is too soft, the father thinks. Too pretty. He hates the smell of that particular flower.

As if sensing the opposing forces in the room, the baby begins to wail.

Her name is Jasmine.

...

But not for long.

As soon as she learns the alphabet, she's spelling it however she wants.

Jazmin. Jasman. Jazzmen.

Her many frustrated teachers ask her to please spell it the right way, which makes no sense to her, because it's _her_ name, so however she spells it _is_ the right way. She spends a month stubbornly scrawling Jazsmenne onto all her assignments in an act of defiance.

The truth is, it doesn't matter how many ways she spells it.

The truth is, she just doesn't like it.

When she was younger, her mother read her stories of beautiful princesses who also had flower names, who were kind and gentle and all the things a little girl should be. Her father, on the rare occasion that he actually spent time with her, told her tales of wives who did as they were told and nothing more, who were quiet and obedient and all the things the world expected of a woman.

And all of these qualities may have fit her name, but they don't fit _her_.

It's like a frilly dress two sizes too big, made of layer upon layer of promises that swallow and overwhelm her, promises she can't keep.

Eventually, she runs out of creative new spellings and is just about resigned to living out her life as a Jasmine, when a thought comes to her. It's simple, really. She can't believe it never occurred to her before.

The next day at school, she writes three letters on her sheet of paper.

J-A-Z.

It's a perfect fit.

...

Here's the thing.

She tries.

She really does try to be the person her parents want her to be.

...

Much to her mother's displeasure, the new name sticks.

It's _Jaz!_ or _Jazzy!_ that ring from the streets or through the phone as her friends call her to go shoot hoops or play tag in the park. _What a waste of a pretty name_ , her mother mutters. And when her daughter comes back home, stomping through the door, knees scuffed and dirt on her face, her mother can't help but think, _what a waste of a pretty girl_.

Perhaps _Jasmine_ could have been the type of girl who wore ribbons in her hair and played the piano and took dance lessons, but _Jaz_ is decidedly not.

Jaz makes it exactly 12 minutes through her first ballet class before she is kicked out by the teacher with a formal notice citing "disorderly conduct," which is really just a nice way of saying that she punched another girl in the face.

Her mother is furious because she's not the perfect daughter she imagined, and her father, well, he's realizing the only thing worse than a daughter is one who misbehaves.

The letter conveniently leaves out the fact that the other girl is a bully who was terrorizing the younger, smaller students in class.

If you ask Jaz, the other girl had it coming.

No one asks Jaz.

...

With ballet out of her schedule and a burning need to get out of the house, she decides to enroll in karate. If she can't be a good daughter, maybe she could try being a son. Or at least an imitation of one.

Karate, she can do. She likes it and she's skilled at it, and for the next three years, she takes lessons twice a week after school. She gets good enough to compete in local competitions, and she wins some, then most, then all of her matches, qualifying for the state championship. And for the first time in her life, she thinks at least one parent might be proud of her, because her father takes the day off to drive her to the big match, and right before she steps onto the mat, he leans down to whisper in her ear.

 _Do not disappoint me_ , is what he says. But Jaz, still young, naive, and desperate for his approval, hears something different. What Jaz hears is _good luck_.

In the end, it doesn't much matter what is said or heard because she loses.

She puts up an admirable fight, gives a solid performance, but the fact is, her opponent is bigger and stronger, and no matter how good she is, there is someone better. At the end of it, every inch of her is sore and she knows her skin is sure to be black and blue in the morning.

On the drive home, her father doesn't speak a word, not even after she apologizes, not even after she promises to do better next time.

He says nothing, and the silence hurts more than her bruises ever could.

...

Here's the thing.

She really does try to be the person her parents want her to be.

But the person her mother wants is not the same person her father wants.

And she ends up disappointing both of them.

...

There is nothing tying her to New York after she graduates high school, and no amount of part-time minimum-wage jobs could have ever made college a possibility, so she takes the only option left for an aimless teenager like herself. She joins the military.

With the meager funds she's saved up over the years, she buys a one-way ticket out of town, packs a bag, and bids her parents an awkward goodbye. Her mother gives her a tearful hug, aghast at the thought of her daughter veering so far off the path she had envisioned. Her father simply stares at her, silent as ever.

In that moment, she looks at them, really looks at them, and sees something she never saw before. Two people who are perhaps unsatisfied with their own lives, who tried to fulfill their dreams through her.

Fuck. That.

Her life is her own and she'll be damned if she lets them make her feel guilty for living it.

She slings her bag over her shoulder and walks out the door.

Perhaps _Jasmine_ would have turned back one last time.

Jaz doesn't.


	2. Two

**II.**

Despite her rebellious nature, Jaz quickly finds that military life suits her. There are many, many rules and regulations, enough to make her head spin, but she finds them comforting rather than stifling.

These rules make sense. They are clear and easy to understand. They can be followed.

It's a far cry from her childhood, where the rules always changed from one day to the next, where every interaction with her parents was a pop quiz in a subject she didn't know she was supposed to study.

Up until now, her life has been a seemingly endless checklist of how to be a good girl and a perfect daughter.

It's different here.

Here, there are only so many ways to be a good soldier.

And here, she hits her marks.

Every last one of them.

...

Of course, it's not easy.

She has to work twice as hard to get half as far, and when some of the other more...traditional guys aren't belittling her, they're grabbing and making passes at her.

To them, she's either good for nothing, or good only for a lay.

Elijah is the first guy she meets who treats her like she belongs.

He approaches her at the shooting range one day – she's nailed every shot, as usual – and asks her for some pointers. She scoffs and rolls her eyes, certain he's either being sarcastic or trying to get in her pants, but he just repeats himself, explaining that his specialty is explosives and his aim could use some work.

 _You sure you want lessons from a woman?_ , she asks, arching her brow at him.

 _Why wouldn't I?,_ he frowns. _You're the best in our class._

She lets out a short bark of laughter, because as true as that may be, she's never heard a man willingly admit it. _Alright_ , she says, a small smile lingering on her lips, _let's see what you got._

He misses nearly every target and she almost has a stroke trying to suppress her laughter.

For the next two weeks, she spends nearly every morning helping him with his technique, and pretty soon, he's no longer the worst marksman she's ever seen. They become fast friends, bonding over prank wars (he wins) and their mutually shitty childhoods (she wins). In Elijah, Jaz finds someone she never had before – someone who has her back. And she has his.

The first time he gets a perfect run at target practice, she cheers loud enough to make him cover his ears, and when she graduates at the top of her class, he leads the crowd in chanting her name. For his birthday, she signs him up for extra rounds at the shooting range, and for hers, he plays the _Aladdin_ soundtrack on all the speakers on repeat.

He pushes her to be better, and makes her laugh so hard she snorts, and takes five years off her life with every crazy stunt he pulls.

When he wants to annoy her, which is most, if not all the time, he calls her _Princess_.

And because he's her best friend, she lets him.

...

It becomes an unspoken rule that the two of them are a package deal. Eli and Jaz – he blows things up and she shoots them down. They're a lethal combination.

When they get tapped for a hyper-exclusive Omega team, he's over the moon, but she's not so sure. She's met and worked with a lot of guys from these so-called elite teams, and they're almost all the same – smug, self-centered, sexist.

In her experience, this usually plays out in one of two ways: either her new CO reminds her at every opportunity that she's good _for a woman,_ or he pretends her gender doesn't matter while using some misplaced sense of chivalry to justify grounding her on more dangerous missions.

She wants to spare herself the headache and the wasted time. She wants to say no. But she is a woman in the Armed Forces and she knows that opportunities like this are few and far between.

So she accepts.

For all the women who paved the way before her.

For all the women who will come after.

...

When she and Elijah arrive at their new base, a man she can only describe as a life-sized GI Joe action figure approaches them, and she immediately knows he's going to be the kind of CO who benches her with the best of intentions.

 _Adam Dalton,_ he introduces himself, taking a glance at the personnel files in his hand. _Elijah_ , he says, then looks over to her, _and...Jaz? Nice to meet you guys. Glad you're joining the team._

She looks at him, squinting against the sun as he takes them on a quick tour of the base. _How'd you know I go by Jaz?_ , she asks.

He glances back at her, flashing a quick grin. _Felt right_.

At that moment, she realizes she may have misjudged him. And a week later, when they're on their first mission and he trusts her to take the shot, she knows that he's unlike any CO she's ever had.

It's the first time she's ever been happy to be wrong.

...

With the new team, she finally finds her tribe. Dalton, Preach, and McGuire are all close with a long, shared history of their own, but they welcome her and Elijah into the fold like they're the last two puzzle pieces they've been searching for.

The stakes are high in their line of work, and the tensions are higher, but they get along well and get the job done.

One day, in between missions, they're engaged in a friendly shooting competition against another team on base. She makes a particularly difficult shot, taking the win for her team, and McG lifts her up in a bear hug, whooping _Way to go Jazzy!_

She wrinkles her nose on instinct – no one's called her that since she was a kid, and it immediately reminds her of pigtails and scuffed knees and being young, wild, and foolish. She remembers other, less happy things too – her parents' expectations, her repeated failures to meet them – and she doesn't like how easily that self-doubt grips her again.

She arms herself with some choice words for the medic, but he's already letting her go to run off and gloat. _No one beats our Jazzy!_ , he shouts, ecstatic.

It's only then that she realizes he's not being patronizing – the pride she hears in his voice is genuine.

It's only then that she realizes she no longer needs to keep proving her worth to herself or anyone else.

She is a skilled sniper and a valued member of her team.

She is exactly who she wants to be.

...

Almost immediately, she regrets not shutting down McGuire when she had the chance. Because Elijah relishes the new nickname and encourages McG at any chance he can get, which is more or less all the time. Between the two of them, she can't go anywhere without hearing someone call out _Princess!_ or _Jazzy!_ after her.

But they're her guys, so she lets them.

...

Elijah is laughing when he goes down.

She had just cracked a joke as he opens the door, and then there is gunfire and shouting and everything goes to hell. He's blocking her line of sight and she's about to tell him to get out of the way when he falls backwards and takes her down with him.

 _Eli, this is not the time to be practicing trust falls!_ , she yells, firing off as many shots as she can while trying to pull him up with her other hand. He doesn't say anything, which is unusual for him, and that's when she realizes there's something wet seeping between her fingers.

She looks down, sees the blood, sees his eyes, wide open and unblinking, and then she starts screaming.

The next part is blurry.

McGuire's at her side shouting something and Dalton and Preach are running after the enemy soldiers, and Elijah's in her arms, but he's so silent and so still. Why isn't he moving? He should be jumping back up and declaring himself the prank king, making fun of her for being so gullible.

 _The look on your face!_ _I can't believe you fell for that!_ She can hear his voice so clearly in her head but when she looks down at him, he doesn't say a word.

He never will again.

When they make it back to base, he's taken away and she gives her debrief and McG and Preach hover around her for a while until Dalton tells them to give her some space. She pulls off her clothes and hops in the shower and watches the water turn red with her best friend's blood.

She doesn't sleep that night.

It's almost midnight when she wanders outside with a blanket and curls up in a chair, watching the moon hang in the sky as the stars twinkle. She's struck by how normal it is, how ordinary. Elijah is gone and the moon still shines and the stars are just as bright today as they were yesterday. Life moves on.

She keeps her eyes towards the horizon, and a few hours later, the sun rises, marking the start of a new day.

The first day without him.

...

Losing Elijah is like losing an eye. Or her trigger finger.

He is that important to her, that much a part of her.

She keeps turning to her right, where he always stood, expecting to see him there with a grin on his face and a glint in his eye. In her free time, she wanders around base, looking for his drawings in the sand.

He once told her, in another life, he would've been an artist.

In this one, the wind has erased all traces of him.

Of course, she knows the risks that come with their line of work. She knows this, but it's _Elijah_. He's the kind of person who runs headfirst into danger but is never touched by it, the kind of person who makes you wonder who he made a deal with to get so damn lucky.

Elijah is—

Elijah _was_.

Elijah was the best person she knew, and now he's gone, and she misses him so much it feels like drowning.

She misses the sound of his laugh, and the way he was always trying to one-up her, and the fact that he was the only other person on the team who also liked runny eggs for breakfast. Hell, she even misses him calling her _Princess_.

But life moves on.

And so does she.

The day after they ship him back stateside, she heads to their favorite spot on base and sticks a marker in the ground. His body may be gone, but a piece of him remains here, with her.

She draws a crown in the sand and imagines him smiling.


	3. Three

**III.**

After Elijah's death, Jaz isn't entirely sure where she stands within the team. Because she was brought in as half of a pair, and now it's just her, and she feels unbalanced against three men who have all known each other longer than they've known her.

As the newest member of the unit, the probability is high that she'll be reassigned. She's seen it happen plenty of times before, even the strongest of teams splitting apart after losing one of their own. Reassigning her would make sense, and she knows it wouldn't be personal.

But it never happens.

She doesn't realize it at the time, but while she mourns Elijah, the rest of her team is making sure they don't lose her too.

McGuire takes it upon himself to make her laugh every day, and he doesn't always succeed, but he always tries. Preach tells her about his daughters and their endless shenanigans, and always seems to have a convenient life lesson or the perfect words of wisdom to tie into his stories. Dalton doesn't really do anything different, but after a while, she begins to notice that he is always around – a steady presence in the back of the room, sitting by her side, pairing up with her on missions – far enough away that he's never hovering, but close enough to stay within reach.

Before Elijah, she didn't have one person who had her back.

Now, she has three.

...

Despite McG's best efforts, the first person to make Jaz laugh again is Dalton.

She's sitting at the table early one morning, lost in thought, when she hears footsteps coming up behind her.

 _Hey_ , she murmurs as he takes a seat.

 _Jaz_ , he greets her, toweling off his hair, _what have I told you about leaving your shampoo in the shower after you're done?_

She looks at him blankly. _Um, not to do it?_

 _Mm-hmm_ , he nods, looking at her admonishingly. _And why is that?_

She rolls her eyes, having been on the receiving end of this lecture many times before, but clearly not enough times to actually change her behavior. _Because I like to peel the labels off the bottles and then they look just like your shampoo and then_ _—_

Realization dawns on her and she stops and leans forward, catching a familiar scent. Her eyes widen as a smile stretches across her face.

No.

He didn't.

 _Jaz_ , he narrows his eyes at her. _I smell like roses._

Oh, he did.

The sound of her laughter is loud enough to wake the rest of the team, and when they get over their initial annoyance, Preach and McG happily join her in making fun of Dalton until he leaves the kitchen in defeat.

In that moment, it feels just like old times, and that's when Jaz knows she'll be okay.

...

She can't pinpoint the exact moment she and Dalton become friends.

It happens so gradually that she forgets there was ever a time she couldn't tell what he was thinking just from the look on his face and he couldn't read her like an open book.

...

They're hanging out one night, drinking beers, watching Preach and McGuire throw horseshoes. It reminds her of her childhood in New York, how she and the neighborhood kids would make up games with whatever they found lying around.

 _You miss it?_ , he asks her. _The city?_

She looks at him thoughtfully for a moment. _A little_ , she replies, _but not really_. _Most of my memories from that time aren't really happy_ , she admits.

 _Well_ , he says with a shrug, _you can always go back and make new ones_.

It sounds so simple the way he says it. Maybe it is.

 _What about you_ , she asks _, where did you grow up?_

 _Oh, nowhere near as exciting._ He shoots her a grin _. Rural Pennsylvania. Used to work on a farm._

She nearly spits out her drink. _Oh, I cannot wait to hear about this_ , she smirks, grabbing them each another beer.

They swap stories back and forth all night, just a city girl, a farm boy, and the moonlight.

...

She can't pinpoint the exact moment she and Dalton become partners.

It happens so naturally that she forgets there was ever a time he didn't pair up with her in the field and she didn't cover his six.

...

Jaz is the first person he tells about the spy joining the team.

She feels a little flattered and a little betrayed and mostly insulted at the thought of bringing in someone new.

 _We don't need someone else,_ she tells him. _We manage just fine, the four of us!_

He listens to her patiently and waits until she's made all of her points before replying. _No, Jaz, we don't need someone else, but we'll be better off with him._

She stares at him, flushed with indignation. He's right. Of course he is. It would be a tactical advantage to have another team member, especially one with a background in espionage, but she can't help hating the thought of someone else in that spot.

He sighs and lays a hand on her shoulder. _It doesn't mean we forget Elijah_.

Sometimes, she really hates the way he can hear the things she doesn't say.

...

She doesn't know the exact moment they become friends or partners, but she does know the moment they become something more, something indefinable.

It's been a long day, but she's having trouble falling asleep, so she wanders outside, hoping the fresh air will do her some good. She finds Dalton sitting next to a dying fire, his head tilted back, eyes looking up at the sky.

 _What are you doing out here, Top?_ , she asks, wandering over to sit down next to him.

 _I could ask you the same thing,_ he chuckles, glancing over at her lazily. She doesn't reply, leaning her head back to mirror his.

They lapse into a comfortable silence and before long, she feels her eyelids getting heavy.

 _Okay, but seriously, what are you doing out here?_ She turns her head to face him, pulling her knees up to her chest.

 _I was looking_ , he replies, _at the stars_.

She laughs quietly to herself. It must be the farm boy in him. But without all the bright city lights and the loud city noise, it really is quite a sight to behold.

 _Hmm_ , she murmurs sleepily. _Tell me about them._

She's already nodding off as the words leave her lips, and the last thing she remembers before falling asleep is the gentle lull of his voice and the feel of a blanket draped over her shoulders.

...

A year later, in Seville, he tells her about Cepheus, Andromeda, Perseus, and Cassiopeia, pointing out the constellations one by one.

The stars are beautiful that night, but the two of them, they're looking at each other.


	4. Four

**IV.**

The day before the new guy arrives, Dalton pulls her aside and tells her point blank not to scare him off.

She bats her eyelashes at him innocently. _I would never!_

 _Sergeant_ , he says sharply, _I mean it_.

She sobers almost instantly. He's never called her that before, never been one to draw attention to rank or titles, and she realizes then just how serious he is.

 _Jaz_ , he sighs, running a hand over his beard. _I'm not asking you to be his friend. Or even to like him._ He looks her in the eyes and softens his tone. _I am asking you to remember that it's not his fault Elijah died._

There it is. That petty, irrational thought that's been nagging at her for weeks now.

She knows she has no reason to hate this stranger, but a part of her already does. Why should he get to join their team, why should he get to take that spot, why should he get to live while Elijah's gone?

But this isn't about Elijah.

And it's not about her.

It's about the team.

And what the team needs most right now is another person – another pair of eyes, another set of skills, another weapon in a fight.

 _Jaz?_ Dalton repeats, a question in his tone. He doesn't say anything further, but she knows what he's asking.

He's asking her to trust his decision and his judgment.

He's asking her to trust him.

And she does.

...

The thing is, she really did plan on giving Amir a chance.

She reminds herself that, like it or not, he's a part of the team, and it's her job to have his back, just like she has everyone else's.

In the heat of the mission, with enemies in front of them and bullets raining down around them, it's easy to do. Her instincts kick in and she can save his life, act as his cover, and do whatever else needs to be done to ensure they all make it back alive.

It's the quieter, slower moments that are harder.

...

Jaz has never been good at waiting.

She was impatient as a kid and she's impatient now, and it's one of those things she's just learned to accept about herself.

It's ironic, considering most of her job as a sniper is to watch and wait for signs of danger. But there's a difference between being perched up somewhere high with her eye through the scope and being stuck on the ground awaiting orders.

Amir, she comes to find out, is very good at waiting.

A little too good.

He sits, still as a statue, his face betraying no emotion, but his eyes are always sharp, always alert, always watching. He's so quiet and serious, and she can never really tell what's on his mind. As someone who's usually good at reading people, she's frustrated by this most of all.

She's not sure she can trust someone with a poker face that good, so she throws in a little dig here and a little jab there, trying to get a rise out of him. She wants to see who he really is underneath the mask, underneath that calm façade.

Much to her disappointment, he takes everything she throws at him in stride. He never raises his voice at her, never gets annoyed with her.

At least, not until Paris.

...

She hates the Paris op from the get-go.

It's the perfect storm of things that could go wrong – questionable intelligence from a shaky source, a kid suicide bomber, and the fact that their success relies solely on Amir reusing an old cover.

She spends most of the trip restless, but that night in the rain, watching him leave the kid there – in that warehouse, surrounded by people who would be happy to let him die – she finally snaps.

And this time, Amir snaps back.

He yells at her about the mission, arguing that she just doesn't understand, and honestly, if she weren't so furious, she might be a little impressed.

She didn't know he had it in him.

But what he had, it turns out, was a sister who died. And maybe, if he'd done things differently, she could've lived.

Suddenly, Jaz understands him all too well.

...

That first week after losing Elijah, she thinks of all the things that could've been different.

There are endless possibilities, so many different scenarios – one where she never told the joke that distracted him, one where she went through the door first, one where they went in together, one where they weren't there at all.

That first week after losing him, she almost loses herself in that terrible, impossible _what if_.

...

Jaz finally understands Amir after that.

She understands that it's grief and guilt he hides beneath a stoic, even-tempered mask.

And she doesn't blame him for taking Elijah's spot.

Not one bit.

...

They start sharing breakfast duty on Saturdays.

She chops and he cooks and they both yell at McG and Preach whenever they try to sneak a taste.

They're not quite friends, not yet.

But almost.

Almost is as good a place as any to start.


	5. Five

**V.**

She dreams about the beach sometimes.

When she closes her eyes, she can still feel the sand on her skin, the wind in her hair, the heat of the sun beating down on her back. She can still hear McG talking smack and Preach coaching the kids and the cheering after her team wins.

It was a good day.

Until it wasn't.

...

As far as life or death situations go, she's had worse. They all have.

They've been in war zones and terrorist cells and deep in enemy territory. They've had near misses with landmines and grenades and have been outmanned and outgunned more times than she can count. But none of that compares to the horror she feels watching the truck come barreling towards them that day.

Because there are civilians there on the beach – innocent men, women, and children. They're laughing and playing and just living their lives, lives that hold so much potential, so much promise.

They're happy.

They think they're safe.

They deserve to be.

...

Jaz is holding a boy in her arms when the world stops shaking.

He whimpers against her chest the whole time they wait for the dust to settle, but he never cries, not once.

After the flames die down, they wander through the wreckage, trying to locate his family, and she's not sure what would be worse – never finding them at all, or finding their bodies. She thinks it might be the first one.

They have combed through most of the area when he stops and crouches down. A woman lies there, her blood staining the sand, and she doesn't move, not when he touches her, not when he shakes her, not even when he begs her to please open her eyes.

Jaz was wrong before.

This is worse.

Many months later, when she slips poison into a murderer's tea in Tehran, she thinks about that boy and the sound he made cradling the body of his dead mother.

When she snaps the man's neck, she sees that boy's face.

It feels like justice.

...

In the parking garage, when they take her away, she glimpses Dalton through the window for one split second. He gives her a look she's never seen before – full of fear and desperation and something else she can't quite name.

She's sure this is the last time she'll ever see him, and she's sorry it had to end this way, but more than anything, she's glad she got to meet him and know him and fight alongside him.

She doesn't regret any of it.

She hopes he knows that.

...

In the white room, the man talks and talks and pokes and prods, trying to get her to spill her secrets. He reminds her of her father – disapproving and condescending, with a cruelty that could be mistaken for kindness.

He calls her _love_ while ordering her torture. He whispers in her ear after firing a gun at her. He touches her so gently, her skin and her scars, as if moments before, he didn't want her broken.

Jaz has known many men like him. She knows the games they like to play, and she knows how to win.

She may die in that room, but she will not break.

She will give him nothing.

...

The pictures shoved in her face hurt more than the fists or knives ever could. They are a stark reminder that she still has so much more to lose, so much more to suffer.

She knows he's lying when he says the team was captured, and she knows the photo of Dalton isn't real. It's a fabrication, a fake, just another way to break her.

That doesn't make it any easier to look at.

...

Her government has forsaken her, which means she will be dead by dawn. If she's lucky.

After spending so many hours with the man in front of her, she knows she's not. He'll have his men cut every last inch of her for information she'll never give, and then, when he loses his patience, he'll put a bullet through her brain. She only hopes that he'll pull a bag over her head again. She's getting really sick of looking at his face.

(Elijah had always loved her gallows humor. She'll be seeing him soon enough.)

Honestly, she's surprised to be outed. It was a mystery she would have liked to keep. But she knows the Deputy Director weighs every decision carefully, so this must have been the only choice left to make. Besides, there are plenty of other secrets she can still take with her to the grave.

They drag her outside where a white van is waiting.

( _What, no limo?,_ Elijah would ask.)

For a moment, she basks in the feeling of the sun on her skin and the breath in her lungs, and it smells like shit out here but she's not complaining.

She is not afraid to die this day. If anything, she is proud. She did not bend. She did not break. She gave him nothing, just as she promised.

( _You did good,_ Elijah would say.)

During the ride, she thinks of her team.

She remembers the way Preach would always watch out for her, the way McGuire would patch her up and make her laugh. She remembers Amir's endless patience and even temper. And Dalton. She remembers everything about him.

The van screeches to a halt.

( _Speak of the devil_ , Elijah would grin.)

Her head is pounding and her limbs are weak, but she knows her fight isn't over, not while the man in the van still lives. As the sound of gunfire rains down outside, she swings her legs, wrapping the chain around her captor's neck. While he chokes in front of her, she thinks of the photo of her captain, slumped over in a chair, bullet-ridden and bloody.

When she strangles that man, she sees Dalton's face.

And she feels safe.

...

She closes her eyes after that.

She has done her duty, kept her secrets, and now she wants to rest.

( _Sorry, Princess_ , Elijah would say. _It's not your time just yet.)_

...

There's a hole in her memory where the rescue should be.

There are flashes of sensations – the sound of her name, the prick of something sharp in her thigh, the feel of steady hands on her face – but mostly it's all a mess of confusion and overlapping voices and loud noises and too many bodies.

It's not until later, when they board the truck, that she feels lucid again.

The floor is stiff and the ride is bumpy, and even in the dark, she sees clearly what her mistakes almost cost them. Five lives on the line to save hers. That math doesn't add up.

It feels terrifying and breathtaking and dangerous knowing how easily they would risk their lives for hers, knowing how much she means to them, knowing that she would be missed.

And then, when the truck stops, and bullets rain down for the second time that day, it just feels terrible.

When they drive off into the night, it feels worse than anything else she's had to endure.

Five lives on the line to save hers.

One life lost and left behind.

...

When she opens her eyes, it's still dark. McGuire and Dalton are sleeping on either side of her, and she pulls herself upright as quietly as she can.

The stars are shining above her, and she tries to remember which ones make up Cassiopeia, but she can't tell. They all look the same to her, a sprinkling of twinkling lights.

She sits that way for hours, watching the moon and the stars, watching the sky change color from night to day. She was so sure she would never see another sunrise, but here she is and here it comes, in all its bright, burning glory. The light hits her face and the wind touches her hair and she reminds herself that this is what being alive is.

Behind her, Dalton shifts among the crates. She can feel his eyes on her, but she doesn't turn back, not yet. She wants to remember this moment and the sacrifice that brought her here.

They sit in silence for a long time, watching the sun make its way up the horizon.

Finally, he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. _Jaz_.

It's the first time she's heard her name in days.

She turns to face him, and the relief in his eyes matches her own.

 _Jaz_ , he says.

It sounds like home.


	6. Six

**VI.**

It's nearly midnight when they finally make it back to base.

Patton greets them at the door, sniffing and pawing at each member of the team as they walk into the kitchen. He takes a particular interest in Jaz, perhaps realizing that she's been injured, and pushes his head against her legs as she settles into the nearest chair. She pats his head in an effort to calm him, but he continues whining loudly and pacing around her.

Dalton hears the commotion and gives a sharp whistle. _Patton!_ , he calls. _Down!_

It's not the first time he's thrown a command at the German Shepherd, and Jaz is certain that, like all the other times before, it will go ignored. But much to her disbelief, Patton obeys, falling quiet and curling up on the floor beside her.

Dalton looks equally surprised, then triumphant, but the victory is short-lived as the dog lets out a huff and lays his head over her feet. Jaz gives a small laugh at the deliberate act of defiance, and Patton's tail thumps contentedly in response.

 _Don't encourage him_ , Dalton mutters, taking the seat next to her.

 _Oh, don't be so harsh,_ she replies, turning to look at him. _He just missed me, that's all._

 _Yeah._ Dalton sighs, pressing a damp towel to her cheek. _He wasn't the only one_.

The rest of the team murmurs in agreement as they fuss over her, Preach grabbing a blanket, McG patching her up, and Amir emptying the contents of the fridge out in front of her. It all feels so normal – sitting here with them in the middle of the night, eating and talking and laughing. Was it really just a few days ago that she thought she would never see them again?

By the time they're finished – her face clean, bandages changed, belly full – the exhaustion in the air is palpable. She hasn't had a decent night's rest since before the op and she's sure the team has fared no better, but they all stay seated, making no move to leave.

She looks at them, taking in the fatigue and relief in equal parts on each of their faces. And they look back at her, closely, carefully, as if they'll lose her again the minute they turn away, as if they can't believe she's really here, as if they're afraid she might still disappear.

She knows exactly how they feel.

She shares their fears.

But sitting here with them, she is less afraid.

...

A few hours later, the exhaustion finally catches up to her. She finds herself nodding off, and McGuire is at her side in an instant, checking her pupils and her pulse before helping her out of the chair. _Alright, Jazzy_ , he says gently. _Time for bed. Doctor's orders._

The rest of the team get to their feet as well, even Patton, and she wonders if they were all just waiting for her to go to sleep first before they felt comfortable doing the same.

She barely takes a few steps before her legs give out, but thanks to a quick pivot by McGuire, she lands on the couch instead of the floor. _I'll just stay here_ , she murmurs sleepily. _It's comfy._

Patton gives a short bark of approval and jumps up next to her, settling in at her side.

 _Jaz_ , Dalton sighs in exasperation. _You're not sleeping on the couch_.

 _Oh yeah?_ , she asks, a challenge in her tone as she burrows deeper into the cushions. _Watch me_.

Preach hands her the blanket and laughs, patting Dalton on the back. _I've had this argument with my wife before,_ he says. _Trust me, Adam, you're not gonna win this one_.

Dalton turns to Amir, who just shakes his head, and then he looks at McGuire, who glances at Jaz, who shoots the medic a look that promises he'll be in for a world of pain once she's back on her feet.

 _You know what, Top_ , McG clears his throat. _One night on the couch wouldn't kill her_.

Jaz smiles triumphantly and shifts her body on the cushions, making herself comfortable. It's warm and soft and she closes her eyes momentarily, sighing in satisfaction. When she opens them again, four faces stare back at her intently, and she would laugh if they didn't all look so serious.

Perhaps they are remembering the last time they found her like that – eyes closed, bruised, bloody, and incoherent – and she suddenly feels the weight of everything they have endured.

 _Thank you_ , she says solemnly, _for coming back for me._

Dalton leans down and pulls the blanket over her shoulders. _Leaving you behind was never an option_.

She nods and closes her eyes then.

She doesn't open them again that night.

...

Jaz wakes slowly in the morning.

She can't remember the last time she slept so well, and she stretches lazily, savoring the feeling. It's quiet and bright, and for a moment, she forgets where she is, but then a cold, wet snout peeks out from under the blanket and presses itself urgently against her hand.

 _Patton_ , a voice calls softly from somewhere nearby. _Let her sleep._ The dog immediately disappears back under the blanket.

Jaz lifts her head slightly and rubs her eyes. _Top?_ She blinks blearily as her CO comes into focus. He's sprawled out in the armchair across from her with a blanket of his own, yawning as he runs a hand over his face.

 _What time is it?_ , she asks.

He doesn't even bother looking at his watch. _Early,_ he guesses. _Go back to sleep._

 _Top_ , she says again, frowning at him. _Why are you whispering?_

He looks momentarily annoyed at her continued questioning before gesturing down, and when she glances over, she sees the rest of the guys on the floor. Preach and Amir are both straight as a board, their hands folded neatly across their torsos, while McG looks like he got run over by a truck, his pillow at his feet and limbs askew. They are all sleeping soundly, and from the looks of it, they won't be waking anytime soon.

She watches them thoughtfully for a moment before turning back to Dalton. _You guys really didn't have to do this_ , she murmurs.

 _We didn't want you to be alone_ , he replies, holding her gaze before slowly closing his eyes. _Go back to sleep, Jaz_ , he repeats softly. _That's an order_.

She looks around one last time before obliging, a small smile lingering on her lips as she drifts off again.

It's no wonder that she slept so a German Shepherd at her side and her team spread out around her, there's nothing in this world that would dare touch her.

Not even in her dreams.


	7. Seven

**VII.**

Things go back to normal, more or less.

The bruises disappear, the wounds heal, and over time, the scars fade. She regains her strength, gets cleared by medical, and joins the team back in the field where her hands never waver and her aim is straight as ever.

Things go back to normal.

But it takes a lot of work to get there.

...

She doesn't have nightmares or wake up screaming or anything like that.

Her sleep is as deep and dreamless as ever, and for the most part, she wakes feeling rested and whole. It helps that Patton has taken up a permanent vigil outside her door, though he always seems to end up under the covers curled at her side by morning.

She doesn't have flashbacks or panic attacks either.

Perhaps she is a little quieter and a little jumpier than usual, but that's to be expected considering everything she went through.

In other words, she's okay as far as the medical professionals can tell.

But here's the thing about trauma.

It doesn't always fit a neat list of symptoms or look the way you expect it to.

For Jaz, it looks like forced smiles and an almost imperceptible flinch when anyone touches her and early mornings sitting in the kitchen staring off into space.

It sounds like strained laughter that no longer comes easy and one-word answers when asked how she's doing and an echoing in her ears when she hears the sound of gunfire.

It feels like guilt every time she sees her face in the mirror and the thundering of her heartbeat when she pulls on a white shirt and an almost fanatical adherence to the rules, lest she forget what happened the last time she went off-book.

It tastes like blood and smells of it too.

...

Here's the thing about trauma.

It causes collateral damage as well.

Because Jaz may have been the one who was tortured, but she is not the only one who suffers.

And for the rest of the team, it looks like this: Hannah and Noah calling every day even though the line is only supposed to be used for official intelligence briefings; Amir cooking more food than they could ever eat at odd hours of the night and practicing his daily prayers out in the common room; McGuire keeping a syringe of epinephrine in his pocket and waking from a dead sleep to check her vitals; Preach talking to his family twice a day and whispering passages from the scripture under his breath when he hangs up; Dalton offering to let her rotate home early, watching her when he thinks she doesn't notice, and softening his tone when he says her name.

Here's the thing about a team like theirs.

When something happens to one of them, it happens to all of them.

In other words, none of them are okay.

...

She doesn't talk much about what happened, but everyone knows anyway.

The facts of her capture are expressed in short, concise sentences on the mission report, and the damage left by the knives and fists are all too visible on her skin. Her team knows every detail of what happened to her body, but the havoc that room wreaked on her mind is harder to see, and even harder for her to admit.

Like every other operative, she was trained to withstand physical and mental torture and taught to compartmentalize her emotions. It's easy in theory and harder in practice, but that day in the white room, with those photos in her lap, it was damn near impossible.

She saw their faces – heard that they had been captured, heard that they had been killed – and for a split second, before she remembered her training, she had believed it.

This is the part that's hard to admit.

In that brief, brutal moment, she would have done anything to save them.

She would have spilled all her secrets, betrayed her uniform and her country, and put countless other lives at risk.

In that moment, she would have traded anything and anyone for the promise of their safety.

It would have been worth it.

...

When they blast the doors open and drag her out of that van – risking their lives, disobeying orders, and defying all logic and common sense to rescue her – she realizes for the first time that she is worth it to them as well.

That's another thing that's hard to admit.

Because caring for someone else is easy, but allowing yourself to be cared for, that's harder. It means more.

It means you have more to lose.

...

She comes close to losing them in Colombia, but she doesn't find that out until later.

...

Dalton approaches her as she's checking over her weapon, and he's quiet, not quite meeting her eyes.

It takes her a second to realize what that means. She's sitting this one out. He's making her stay behind.

At first, she's sure that he's joking, trying to keep her on her toes, but then he reminds her that she hasn't been cleared yet, and coming from him, it feels like a low blow.

That's just an excuse.

With a team like theirs, they have a lot of latitude in how they operate, and there's been a long-unspoken understanding among them that a piece of paper from medical is just a formality.

Not this time.

This time, Dalton insists on following the rules.

He tells her there are procedures in place for a reason, as if he's ever cared about them before. He tells her he's not qualified to decide if she's fit for duty, though, being the team leader, there's no one better qualified than him.

These are just more excuses.

But then he confesses that he'd never forgive himself if something happened to her, and maybe that's the truth, the real reason he won't let her go.

It's not because she's not ready to go back into the field.

It's because he's not ready to let her.

...

Since joining the Omega team, Jaz can count on one hand the number of missions she's missed.

The first time was when she was recovering from a concussion and a broken arm.

The second was after they lost Elijah.

This is the third.

It's different this time.

...

There is a part of her that resents him for grounding her, so she storms out of the room, making sure her displeasure is known.

But there is another part of her that understands his decision, even if she doesn't agree with it, so she comes back before they leave and reminds them to be careful.

By the time the helicopter lifts off, her irritation has all but faded away.

It's hard to stay angry when there's no guarantee they'll return.

...

She'll never admit it, but talking to the shrink helps.

It's so quiet around base without them, without the noises that accompany them – the rustle of a prayer rug, the creak of the fridge door, the clanging of horseshoes, the pounding of boots hitting pavement. It makes her feel restless, and when she gets this way, her mind races to the worst possible scenarios.

She thinks about everything that could go wrong, all the different ways she could lose them, and pretty soon, she's not sure if she's sweating from the workout or the stress.

She hates feeling so helpless and powerless and afraid, but more than that, she hates talking about how much she hates feeling this way. Really, she just hates talking about her feelings, but with Captain Martin – Xander – she hates it a little less.

He's not pushy or patronizing like the woman she had to see after losing Elijah, and he doesn't act as if he knows her better than she knows herself. Mostly, he just listens, quietly and without judgment, as she tells him her thoughts and her fears.

When she's done speaking, he tells her something no one else has ever told her before.

The trick is not to focus on overcoming your fears. Sometimes, it's enough just to learn to live with them.

And for the first time that day, Jaz finds herself breathing easier, she finds the fear loosening its grip on her.

There are still so many different ways she could lose them, but there are also so many reasons she is grateful to have them. And later that night, when they come back, she realizes that's all that really matters.

When they come back, she realizes this: there is a cost to having them in her life, and that cost is the possibility that she could one day be without them.

She decides she can live with that.

...

The day Jaz finally feels like herself again, the rest of them feel it too.

Because that's the thing about a team like theirs.

When something happens to one of them, it happens to all of them.

In other words, they are all okay.

Because she is.


End file.
